The hammer slipped from my grip and clanged against the rebar, echoing like a gavel strike. Above me, the unfinished tower swayed slightly in the wind—my design, my funding, built on land I own through shell companies even the IRS can’t trace. My phone buzzed. Again. A photo from him: me in my work boots, captioned, 'This is what I sacrifice my youth for?'

I wiped sweat from my brow, the sun burning my neck. Two weeks ago, he said he loved my calloused hands. Now, he’s posting memes about me in private groups. I opened the encrypted app. One message: 'Sistersong is compromised. Initiate Eclipse?'

Before I could respond, three black SUVs screeched to a halt at the site entrance. Out stepped Kael, Dain, and Riven—men no one here has ever seen, but who’ve killed for me before. Kael’s voice crackled in my earpiece: 'You said never to come unless you were broken. You’re not broken. You’re awake.'

Dain smirked, adjusting his sunglasses. 'So. Who needs to disappear first?'